It Skips a Generation: Adventure of Alice Carter
by MIMitationBalance
Summary: Alice Carter-Wells is the product is a timid mother and sexist father. But she is still Peggy Carter's granddaughter. Having inherited many of Peggy's traits, Alice struggles to break free from her parents constricts. When Peggy's secrets bring danger to her doorstep, Alice must dig around to find out why. Her genetics are more than up to the task. But is she?
1. Chapter 1

**PRESENT DAY**

Alice grabbed her back pack of the hook by the door and yelled a goodbye to her father who sat at the kitchen table with his coffee in hand. He waved but didn't lift his eyes from his tablet, on which he read the news every morning. Closing the front door of her suburban house, built circa 1951, she sat down on the curb and waited for the school bus to roll its way up.

She could smell the exhaust before it even reached her street. She put her hands on her knees and pushed her self up. Swiping a hand past her ear she brushed back the wavy brown locks that had been in her family for generations. The hair fell to just below her chin and she always kept it down unless she absolutely had to put it up. Her mother said it framed her face better that way. Alice and her mother looked very similar, and both looked like the spitting image of Alice's grandmother, Margaret.

Alice's mother, Elizabeth, worked as a secretary in a law firm in the closest big city which happened to be New York City. Mild mannered and submissive, she never pushed for anything too hard. She was easily frightened and soft of heart. She had been in the city during the attack on New York.

She had seen the Avengers fight from afar. She had never been the same after that. It was like Elizabeth Carter-Wells was suddenly lost, and as a result, so was Alice's mother. That had been only a month ago. Seventeen year old Alice mourned the loss of her maternal figure, but it wasn't like there was no one to raise her.

Peter Wells was a jovial man and he loved his daughter, but he was a sexist man, with a stern voice. He had insisted that Alice grow up a "proper" girl. He was not a man to cross and arguing with him was like trying to argue with a wall.

All this summed up to Alice being everything her parents were not. She was rebellious against her father and hardly the fragile flower her mother was. Not to say that her upbringing didn't affect her. Thanks to her father she had never been allowed to do sports. So instead she became an academic focused child. Thanks to her mother she never got to go out with friends and ended up being rather lonely. But no matter the circumstances given to her by Fate, Alice was tough as nails.

Climbing the steps onto the bus, her ears were assaulted with noise from her fellow classmates.

 **1951**

A woman stands in the skeleton of a house. Workers and agents both scramble around her, constructing the safe house. It had taken Peggy a month to collect enough evidence to support her request for this building. A specially built safe house. Peggy had no intention of living in it just yet. Her flat in the inner city was working just fine, no perhaps one day, when she settled down. She laughed at the thought. Peggy Carter, settling down. That would be the day.

The real reason for this house was to hide a secret that Peggy had every hope of keeping under wraps, and soon, under bricks.

She cradles the wooden box in her hands, the container no bigger than her two fists together. Soon she could hide it away and move on, keeping the worry in the back of her mind, instead of in her handbag.

"Peggy." a male voice from behind disrupts her thoughts.

"Yes, sir." she turns and says to the man before her, a head taller, and a great deal wider.

"This ain't no time to be checking your make-up." he waved a hand at the box. "Why don't you go and see if the men need anything to drink."

"Yes...sir." Peggy smiled and strode away, fuming inside behind the face.

 **Present Day**

Alice's seat was front row, as it had been since preschool. History was one of her favorite subjects, but today things just seemed rather down. The gray clouds set the mood and the buffoons sitting behind did nothing to lighten it. Nothing about the Holocaust was worth laughing about, but there they were giggling like gossiping birds. After a few more minutes she couldn't take it anymore.

"Why don't you pipe down and internalize what it would be like if you were being imprisoned in a death camp." she snapped out to the fools.

They immediately laughed even harder, but the look on her face silenced them after a few seconds. She face forwards again and let out a silent sigh, the air whooshing from her lungs. She trained her eyes on her textbook and read line by line, seeing lot of letters and words, but not learning any of them.

Out of the corner of her eye she watched the second hand on the clock tick down until 2 pm. In the moment before the bell, she snapped the book shut and deftly swiped it into her bag. She was standing when the screech of the bell went off. Already at the door by the time her peers had realized that they were free to go. Looking one more time at the idiots in the seats behind hers, she flashed them a smile that was also an inherited trait.

While the school bus picked her up in front of her house, it dropped her off that the end of her cul de sac street.

Alice screened the class homework page on her phone while walking. The multitasking was easy. She had walked this road hundreds of times. It wasn't until she almost ran into the black car, that she realized the black, sleek Ford wasn't supposed to be there.

If her parents agreed on anything, it was the importance of routine. Something abnormal was there, then something was most definitely wrong. This evoked some sense of urgency in Alice's gut. She quickened her pace and jammed her key into the door. Inside she saw her mother sitting at the kitchen table with a man in a suit. Both of them looked up to see her drop her bad on the floor. Elizabeth was crying steady tears, melting her make up.

"Mom, what's the matter?" Alice said, rushing over. The man stood and extended his hand.

"This must be her granddaughter Alice. The resemblance is uncanny. She's even inherited some of the accent."


	2. Chapter 2

**Present Day**

Alice shook the man's hand. It was firm and steady. When he returned to his seat by her mother she nervously rubbed off the sweat of her hands on her jeans. It had taken her until she was 11 until she had convinced her father to let her wear pants at all. When he finally conceded, she bought several pairs, and now wore them everyday, like a uniform. In her eyes they were the perfect attire for anything.

"Alice, darling, this is Mr. Coulson." her mother gestured to man with her left hand, wiping her eyes with her right.

"Nice to meet you, although I wish it were under better circumstances." he smiled in a kind way. Not like her father, who smiled in a more severe fashion. His second statement sent her mother into a fit of sobs. Alice ran and wrapped her mother in her arms. The delicate woman shook in the stronger girl's grasp. Mr. Coulson looked on hardly perturbed by the scene. He allowed Ms. Carter-Wells to settle before speaking with Alice.

"I regret to inform you that Margaret Carter passed away yesterday evening." he spoke softly, yet his words resonated. He waited for a reaction, but from Alice he received nothing.

"Has my father been informed?" she asked.

"We have sent someone to him at work." Mr. Coulson said curtly, standing and buttoning his suit jacket, top button only. Alice disliked the feel the action gave off, and rose as well, her mother still clutching at her waist like a child.

"Who exactly is 'we?'" Alice did her best to sound polite but it still came out strained. Who was she to care? Her father wasn't here to punish her for her attitude and her mother will have returned to dazed stupor by the time he came home. Not even her father got her to speak when she was like that.

"Just a group of people who handled her affairs. Don't concern yourself with it." his voice was soothing, but Alice didn't dare trust it. Her father's voice could be gentle too, and he had locked her in her room when he had found her looking at pictures of cars instead of flowers and the like.

"Your grandmother left your family some things. The box is on the counter. Feel free to contact me with any questions." with a nod he handed her a card and was about to see himself out. But Alice only briefly stopped him. She was a granddaughter after all.

"Did she die happy?" she asked, formality masking how much she truly cared.

"To my knowledge she passed with someone close to her present. I'm sure she was content."

And then like that, the car was pulling out of the drive and was gone. Alice was now free to actually digest the sorrowing news. She fell to her knees on the floor.

 **1951**

The night was quiet and Peggy strutted down the sidewalk to the safe house, which was no longer a skeleton, but a blank building of cement and plaster. She entered the structure through what would become the back door. The tree lined yard ensured that no neighbors would report nocturnal visitors.

Climbing the stairs to the upper story, she winced when they creaked.

The corner room was her preference for tonight's escapade. It was the only unfinished room. The wall that faced the backyard was only half done, with a small square left unplastered. Peggy knew that coming in, and intended to capitalize on it. Slipping the wooden box into the space, she took a piece of drywall and plastered over it, working as quickly as she could. A dog barked in a close by lawn, and she turned her head to the noise.

Rearranging the room exactly as she had found it, she took a last look at her handy work. A well aimed kick with enough force would demolish the shabby cover, but it was the single option she had right now. If she ever wanted to retrieve the box, she would rather not want a sledgehammer call attention to it.

Peeking out a window towards the front of the house, she spotted the barking dogs warning. A couple stood under a street lamp, lovingly saying goodbye she assumed.

Walking out the back door again, she kept the shadows and passed them. Given their state, it had not taken much skill to go unnoticed by them. Given the girl's age, neither would testify if they had seen her. A lady being alone at night would hardly top the scandal caused by the couple who had seen her. She would bet that the last thing they wanted was to reveal their tryst.

Smiling to herself she took a cab back to her flat.

 **Present Day**

Alice allowed herself to cry herself out in the entrance hallway. The rug on the wooden floor became dotted and damp where she eventually laid down her head. Her grandmother had always been such an inspiration. She had grown up calling her Nan, because she had been too young to properly pronounce Nana. It had seemed that Nan had been the only one who understood her. She would slip Alice photographs and sweets, concealed in presents that were parent approved. In the dress she received on her eighth birthday, there were secret pockets that held chocolate and a picture of a woman in an airplane.

"You are magnificent Alice, you don't need anyone to tell you so. You just are." she had said as farewell, after nearly every visit.

Once she was old enough to comprehend it, Alice noted how different Nan was from her daughter Elizabeth. Elizabeth stuttered and fumbled, whereas Nan would stand tall and firm, bustling through the kitchen to make tea and whatnot for whenever Alice came over.

When Nan moved back to England, the visits became phone calls. As she aged, they happened less and less frequently, which left Alice with her parents.

Alice picked herself and wiped her eyes. These were fond memories and they would stay that way. But they were ones she would cherish alone. The clock read 4:30. Her father always came home promptly at five. She needed to handle this situation before he returned. Having someone call on his wife alone would make him unagreeable, finding that someone had chosen to address his daughter over his wife would infuriate him. She began formulating the lies she would have to tell to abate him. The man did not enter the house, he said the news and then left. He called mother "ma'am" and did not speak to Alice who had been confined to the living room. That would at least spare her the worst of his wrath.

Alice guided her mother up the stairs to her bedroom, and tucked her in with a glass of water on the bedside table. The woman's eyes stared without seeing, perhaps seeing something in the woman's head. Reliving a nightmare or dream that she would rarely awake from.

Now Alice prepare the biggest falsehood of all: the man did not bring or leave anything. She turned her attention to the box on the counter. Taking it into her arms she moved it into her closet, disguising it behind her numerous dresses. Her father wouldn't allow the box, and her mother wouldn't care. The heirlooms were her responsibility. It seemed fair enough. Her father's heavy disapproval of Nan would lead him to sell or discard the items. Her mother would look at them and then retreat into her shell once more. No, this was best.

She elected to review the contents later, as the grandfather clock in the hall began to chime.

Her flinch warranted her a slice on her finger, not enough to draw blood, but enough to remind her that she held a card in her hand. Reading it she saw that it was plain, white, cardstock with a name and a number. No address, no profession. Just a name and a number.

That was odd. The man said he handled Nan's affairs, but the card did not say lawyer or any other reasonable career that would have him caring for Nan. In hindsight he had been rather cryptic. But too late to press further, at least for now.

She slipped the card into the box and heard her father's car door slam in the driveway.

Filing it in the back of her mind, she set a scene of herself, sitting on the couch, reading a book on gardening. She had read it thoroughly by the time she was 13. Now it was her cop out. Her father would suspect nothing of his daughter, who sat properly doing proper things.

"Good afternoon, Alice, dear." Peter Wells announced, in his usual fashion.

"Hello father."

"Did anyone stop by the house today?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Present Day**

Her father had given her a harsh slap that afternoon. It was nothing she hadn't experienced before. It was rather small in comparison to be honest. But it was still an inconvenience because now he would be particularly icy with her for a few days. At least a week would have to pass before she could do anything useful with him. Him in a bad mood meant she wasn't allowed to go anywhere other than school, and that she wasn't allowed to put so much as a toe out of line...a line she carefully pushed.

Peter had not liked a man calling on his wife and daughter alone. And while Alice had told him the fib of being silent in the living room, he had still been displeased.

"You are to remain out of sight in your room young lady. You are to be neither seen nor heard, am I clear!" he had firmly scolded. It was then he had delivered the smack.

Alice no longer responded with a quiet "yes" anymore. While in her head she knew it would calm the rage and make her father leave her alone, something in her gut refused to whine like a dog at his feet. She simply stared at the floor in silence. After a few moments of hearing his heavy breathing in front of her face, she head him walk up to see his wife, per routine.

She had a few minutes to form a plan. She was no way going to follow him up and retreat to her room. That would only as for him to pa her visit in there. She was not in the mood to have him abuse her things. No, she would bide her time down here until her returned to make his afternoon coffee. Then she would slip upstairs to her. From there she would have a few hours until she was called upon, rather loudly, to make dinner.

But until she could move she would have to stay out of sight.

The closet in the hall was her primary choice. The door didn't creak and had direct access to the stairs the minute her father had passed and was out of the way. That had been her hiding place as a child. But now she would be bumping her head on coats and the like. Her methods had matured somewhat.

Taking care to sit perfectly still she settled lightly into the couch with her book again. An inconspicuous sight that her father would glance right over. No need to hide in closets anymore. A pavement artist should never have to, if she was good enough.

Her father's uneven gait was heard thumping down the stairs. Her father had a limp. From what she did not know, but it was an easy way to identify him around the house, especially if she wanted to avoid him. She saw his peppering comb-over pass through her vision over the top edge of her book.

 _Ten...nine...eight...seven...almost out...six...five...four...c'mon I'm almost in the clear...three...two...one..._

 **1951**

The next morning in the office was predictable as ever. File papers, take lunch orders, then coffee orders and file some more. The merits had worth, since they gave Peggy access to every case and every fact that passed through the SSR. But she had no use for the information, unless she had a case. Which never happened. She did get to sit in on an interrogation today though. Agent Thomson had apprehended a blacklisted agent for an opposing party, a party that they had very little information on.

The Chief was sitting in there right now doing the preliminaries, but Thomson was sure to follow. He had ways with getting people to talk, and these were way she did not approve of, most of the time.

"So, you're caught." the Chief said, nonchalant and leaning back in the chair which complained under the stress.

"What will you do? Kill me?" the prisoner asked, leaning forward in response. He was a grubby man which uneven ginger hair, shadow on his chin and neck. The only defining feature she could see was only because of her position on the other side of the glass. There was a reflective mirror on the interrogation table. They had collected it from the man's jacket and Chief was trying to see if it had any purpose beyond being well, a mirror.

But its reflective properties revealed a tattoo behind the man's left ear. A slight step to her right and it came into clear view in the mirror. A circle with a four leaf clover inside. In each of the clover leaves there was a different symbol. A skull, a fire, a gun and a hand. The whole thing could not be bigger than a silver dollar, maybe an inch and a half in diameter and that was being generous.

The Chief walked in to the side room and slapped the file and mirror on the table.

"He's not talking. He says that unless we know something he won't tell us anything. Real mysterious-like." the Chief shook his head and rubbed his eyes with his index finger and thumb.

"Let me in there." Thomson said, rising from leaning in the corner. He had been observing with s stoic expression. "I'll get this canary to sing Camptown Races in a few."

"Do your worst Agent. We need to get something soon or Washington is gonna darken our doorstep. The threats from the Commies are getting more and more..." the Chief trailed off.

"More what?" Peggy broke her silence and inquired.

"Just that Carter. More."

 **Present Day**

She heard the coffee maker hum to life. In her bare feet, she made the run to the stairs where she ascended, quietly of course, to the solace of her room. Proceeding directly to her closet, she was going to poke through the box, but not go too deep. That must be done when there was no one else home to disturb her. Only then would the contents be 100% safe from her family and their strange ways.

The card was still wedged into the folded top of the box, folded so that each side was under and over the adjacent side, keeping the box shut.

Alice continued to wonder at the card. Why would she call Nan's caretaker about a couple of old heirlooms?

* * *

 **A/N: So ummm, hi. It's me. I don't usually do Avengers fanfics and this is my first. Thanks for all the supportive reviews, they really boost my writing superpowers that I wish I had. Please check out my other stories. They are a series with a vast timeline and involved universe, just a heads up. Anyway! Thanks a bunch! See you on the other side!**

 **-MIMIC**


	4. Chapter 4

**Present Day**

Thursday was her lucky day. Her father had a conference with another company and would be out of town until tomorrow. Her mother was in bed as usual. Now was her chance to peruse of the contents of the box that Mr. Coulson had delivered. She closed the door to her room with a quiet click and then drew the box out of its hiding place in her closet. Sliding it into the middle of her carpeted floor, she pried open the four way fold that kept the box shut.

The items inside were of the ordinary sort. She set aside the card bearing Mr. Coulson's phone number and placed it under the lamp on her nightstand. Then she dug in.

The first item was a music box. When she opened it up, it played "My Country 'Tis of Thee," or "God Save the Queen." Alice knew both variations by heart. A small girl waving a flag twirled on her pedestal. On one side, there was the British Flag, but the back of the flag was a blank white, with old scratches in it from wear and tear. Placing the box gingerly to her right, her closed in and put it next to her.

There were piles of jewelry which Alice sorted through bit by bit. Much of it she put in her mother's jewelry box while she slept. It seemed fitting that it go to her, and Alice didn't have the heart to sell any of it yet. Many of the pieces were old fashioned and vintage with large beads and thicker chains but there was an small ring that she couldn't put down. It was a simple band, made of silver, that was quite thin, save for the front where it thinned even more. The left side curved over the inset gemstone, while the right side curved under giving the ring a pleasing and elegant swirling effect. Set in the space between the metal curls was a black pearl. Ashy and gray they turned the ring into a graceful accessory that looked like it had jumped out of the black and white films with Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers that she used to watch with Nan.

For another few moments, Alice mourned the loss of her most favored relative.

Slipping the ring onto her right index finger, she continued to pull item after item out of the box.

Pictures of the grandfather, who died when she was 4, the wedding pictures of Grandfather and Nan. Pictures of her Uncle Charles. He was her mother's older brother, but her father had cut her off completely from him once he had married Elizabeth. When Nan would bring him up in conversation, he father would immediately change the subject. Nan was always so proud of his accomplishments. In hindsight, perhaps her father had been bitterly jealous of Uncle Charles, although Alice could not recall what he did.

 **1951**

"So what did you get off of him?" Chief was brief as Thompson returned from roasting his prisoner. Thompson shook his head in complete exasperation.

"Almost nothing. He just kept chanting 'Death, Truth, Justice, and Chaos' over and over. I can't make heads or tails of it." he ran his hands through his receding hairline. Peggy predicted he'd be bald by 65. The gears in her head were spinning. This man had every look of an Irish mobster. How did the SSR suspect that this had something to do with the threats coming from the Communist Powers.

"Sir, might I try and pull something from him?" Peggy turned to the chief who stirred from his stupor.

"Listen, Carter, I know you're just trying to help but-"

"Five minutes, ten if you're feeling generous." she pressed on.

"What do you think you're going to get outta this goon?" Thompson cut in.

"Well for starters I won't be getting blood out of him." Peggy cleanly responded with perfect deadpan. Thompson's tongue was stayed as Peggy waited for a response in the silence.

...

...

"Fine!" the Chief threw up his hands in defeat. "Go ahead Carter. But don't waste my time with whatever pleasantries you can squeeze out."

With a humph he left and Thompson followed. Peggy couldn't believe her luck. Now she could interrogate him alone. She gathered the files into her hands and readied herself but in last thoughts, she left the file sitting on the table as the door to the room, on the other side of the one way glass swung open.

"So now they send in a dame to make the pig squeal." he laughed. It was guttural and the air filled with the scent of cigar smoke and trash.

"I'm glad you have such a high opinion of yourself." she smiled ever so slightly.

"Ladies or Gents, it don't matter. Death, Truth, Justice, and Chaos." he leaned forward but was restricted by the cuffs that held him to both the table and chairs.

"If you're listing the guarantees of life, I think you're forgetting about Taxes." Peggy leaned in as well, despite the nauseating stench that emanated from the man. At this the man broke down into fits of laughter, shoulders heaving, the handcuff jangling in the clang of metal on metal.

"Clever girl you are. But I ain't in a talking mood." he man still held, even through his apparent amusement.

"Well would you deny a lady your name?" Peggy softened her voice and bat her eyes. The man looked suspicious of her, but Peggy kept up the act.

"O'Neill. Name of all of me and my brothers." he grinned. His teeth were yellowed and filthy.

"I never took you to a mob man, especially not Irish." Now it was Peggy's turn to smile. The man looked confused but didn't lower his ridiculous 'tough guy' façade.

"Oh, and why's that?"

"To start you don't remotely Irish."

"Hardly proof." he was defensive. Peggy took the offensive opportunity.

"True that may be. Certainly mixed signals, that with the four leaf clover behind your ear." this caught him off guard. "Care to tell me about that? Death, Truth, Justice and Chaos?"


	5. Chapter 5

**1951**

"You were saying, Mr. O'Neill that you had brothers? Why don't you tell me about them?" Peggy did her best to sound purely curious. The man seemed suspicious of her and it crossed her mind that perhaps she should have opened with this more innocent question first. Now she'd have to play the game of talk with him. He would try to not reveal things and she would try to make him reveal things without letting on that she was attempting to do so. A tiresome task indeed.

She smiled bright and blinked at him in the silence before he answered.

"There's four of us." and then he stopped, watching her.

"Are you the oldest then, you seem very protective and responsible. Probably why you're here and not them." she rested her chin on her hand and cocked her head to the side a small ways. The question appealed to his pride.

"You're right I am! I'd never let my brothers get caught like this. Death Truth Justice Chaos." he leaned back in his chair, puffing up his chest. Gosh, men like him had such inflated heads, Peggy thought to herself. Better make use of it then.

"Yes, yes, yes, that's all well and good but what about them? You know how it is, a girl in the office. No gossip to go around." she put a bit of a whine in her voice, pouting out her lower lip just a smidge. He noticed for sure. His eyes glanced all over her face and maybe some other places it shouldn't have but she ignore that for the time being.

"Well uh...um..." he stumbled over the words. This was excellent! Now he was flustered. "One of em's really good with people. They like to talk to him, he has his way about him, ya know?" he laughed at the idea. But he said like he was mocking the question, like Peggy would never understand, but she noted every word.

"Oh how wonderful, he must be an animal at parties!" she dished out the sugar and the honey and waved her hands excitedly like this was such an enrapturing conversation to behold. And he ate it up. He enjoyed playing with the silly little secretary girl.

"He's the youngest and the middle ones are twins, hard to tell em apart sometimes. They're real strong boys. And-"

"Carter!" the door to the interrogation room opened and Thomson pointed at her with two fingers and beckoned her out. Peggy resisted the strong urge to roll her eyes and sigh. This lowlife was giving her everything! Regardless she rose from her seat gave the perp and small wave and left in a hurry. The minute the door was closed she turn on her fellow agent.

"Couldn't you see I was on the verge of getting something important!" she walked back to her desk in tiny little huff, satisfying her need to express the rage. The arrogant son of a-rghhhh followed her back to her desk and began to shamelessly patronize her.

"Relax Carter I'm sure he'll be perfectly willing to share what his mother cooks for breakfast with his cell mates, now c'mon Agent Harper pulled his usual stunt and turned in all his mission reports in a mass horde of filing. You better get on that before Chief gets wind of it."

What a way to spend the morning and it wasn't even time to collect lunch orders yet. Peggy was ready to shoot something, but that would hardly be considered ladylike.

* * *

 **Present Day**

The following morning Alice continued to look through the box of items left by Mr. Coulson. School was cancelled on account of professional development and Alice had full intention of using the extra time. The jewelry in the boy had all been distributed, the photos had been stowed under the clothing in her dresser drawers. The ring still remained on her finger. The box was empty save for a few small items. The ceramic music box, an old wristwatch with a maroon leather band and letters from Nan to Alice. She had refused to read them yet. Something in her knew that if she did, she'd only ruin the paper by sobbing over them. They sat in the box, daring her to touch them.

A door closed with a soft click down in the entrance hall.

Father!

He was home earlier than she had anticipated and in a silent, but mad, scramble she moved the box to the corner next to her closet and went to go sit with her mother. Hopefully her father would suspect she'd gotten into no mischief while in the presence of her mother. As cold a man as he may be, Peter Wells disliked the stress his furies brought upon his wife.

He bustled into the room and Alice immediately rose an faced him, hands clasped behind her back, sweating in her nervous state.

"Good evening Alice."

"Good evening Father."

"Have you done all your chores?"

"Yes Father."

"Good. Now please leave, I wish to speak to your mother now."

Alice knew better than to linger, although what he expected to speak with her mother about eluded her. Perhaps she listened and he pretended she had responded with some demure prattle that she had charmed him with all those yeas ago. Hardly romantic in her opinion. Just a woman telling a man what he wants to hear. Pathetic. Shame from her parentage aside, she retreated to her room once more, heading immediately to the box. She was opening the sliding wooden door to her closet when her father opened the door unexpectedly.

Alice gasped and stumbled back.

"Young lady, you're mother water glass was empty- What is the meaning of this?!" his gaze quickly settled on the box.

"Nothing Father! Just me cleaning up. Modesty and organization..." she crawled on her hands and knees towards it but her father on foot had beaten her to it. He went first for the letters. She wouldn't have snatched them once he them but she tried anyway. The lifted them from her reach and gave her a look that had the power to make her shrivel.

Leafing through them his anger grew more and more apparent. Throwing them on the floor they scattered into a mess. With a cry of indignation he scowled at Alice on the floor.

"First you hide this and now you lie about it. You said nothing was left by your grandmother!" he made for Alice and she hesitated to call back at his face. But it cracked and she couldn't hold it back.

"They are mine not yours! Why did I even have to tell you at all!"

"I AM YOUR FATHER! EVERYTHING YOU HAVE COMES TO ME FIRST!"

Alice cowered, she'd done it now. Peter yanked her to her feet...by her hair. He'd never gone this far before. Alice screeched in the sudden pain. He released her hair but slapped her face, the force throwing her head to the side, almost throwing her to the floor, but bot quite. She put up a hand in weak defense and he grabbed her hand in a vice grip in his left hand. The right forcing her chin to face him. The pressure was crushing her fingers and she was biting her tongue.

"You will not leave this room until you have learned respect, do you hear! You're mother did not raise you to be disobedient, and I certainly never nurtured such insolence." he let her face go. Alice did not know what came over.

"No. You programmed her to make me a doll, just like her. And I always hated playing with dolls."

He slapped her again and let hand go. He then delivered a whack to her shoulder which sent her sprawling to her bed. In the last of his attack he kicked the box with vicious force into the wall. Alice winced as she heard the crack of ceramic and the shattering the mechanism in the music box.

Her father slammed the door and locked it with the ring of keys he kept on the hook on the wall. Now Alice could truly cry.


End file.
